Where Have You Hidden
I went out calling you, and you were gone.
Spiritual Canticle – St. John of the Cross
current reflections...
Where Have You Hidden
I went out calling you, and you were gone.
Spiritual Canticle – St. John of the Cross
One time, when I was first becoming a Sister, another wise and holy Sister asked me how I would describe the God I pray to. Actually, she was asking me to share my manner of praying. I was very surprised by this. While I do not remember my answer, I will never forget the question.
If one searches the Hebrew Scriptures, one finds that the people back then experienced God in different ways. Theirs was a God who comes, a God who leads, and a God who comforts and heals. But theirs was also a God who was hidden. As we approach the season of Pentecost, which ushers in the summer of Ordinary Time, we find ourselves asking the Spirit to come. There is a certain urgency in our plea, a deep yearning. Even the liturgy echoes this strong feeling in its Veni Sancte Spiritu , “Come, Holy Spirit, come!” The script carries with it an exclamation point.
The hymn goes on to relate all the different ways we long to have the Spirit come. We ask the Spirit to be sweet rest in our labors, a coolness in the heat and solace in our woe. We also ask the Spirit to heal our wounds, to renew our strength, and to guide our steps when we lose our way.
With little effort, we feel in our depths all the instances described above, since these are a part of our daily experience. Can we say, then that whenever we experience rest in our labors, coolness in the heat, solace in woe and feel our strength renewed, this indeed is the Spirit coming upon us? Writers, such as Karl Rahner, would say yes. They tell us that the experience of God is not just one experience among other experiences. The experience of God lies hidden within every human experience, even the sad and difficult ones. This is what is meant by the Radical Presence of God. Strangely, the one experience that should be the most apparent is in fact the most hidden.
The poet, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, writes that earth is crammed with heaven and that every common bush is afire with God. Still, our daily experiences seem to be so very common. Are they really filled with heaven? I rather enjoy reading the account in Exodus where Moses nonchalantly decides to “go over and see this remarkable sight.”(Ex3:3) Even he had to be told to take off his shoes. He was standing on holy ground and did not know it.
Sister Mary Jo Loebig, O.C.D.
May 2004
Yet A Little While
It is the Eve of the Ascension, and it is thundering outside. Although I really do not feel like an orphan, as the Readings suggest, I do sense that Someone is going away. I find myself wanting to ask this Someone to take along the fragments of my life and to place them before the throne of God.
We do not have mountains here in Iowa, only lush green fields and gardens. So, my prayer is on the plain. It is this prayer I share with the world.
“What I am, You assumed, O Lord – my frail humanity, my trembling heart, and a mind that simply cannot fathom Who You are. I will wait this little while. When Your Spirit comes upon us, Lord, return what I offer this night, this day, well-meaning fragments of my life, utterly transformed just by having been near Your presence. Your simple gaze is enough.”
Sister Mary Jo Loebig, O.C.D.
April 2004
I Have Seen the Lord!
A Poetic Rendition of What Happened
As I gathered my thoughts for this reflection, I was reminded of Fr. Rahner's quip: “Even if one proclaims the resurrection poorly, the resurrection still gets proclaimed.” The following bit of inspiration is taken from Sandra Schneiders' work, Written That You May Believe, in a section entitled “The Easter Apostle.”
Briefly, let us turn to the story of Mary Magdalen. It is still dark. The pre-dawn obscurity echoes Mary's own inner landscape. She is so distraught and overcome with hopeless sorrow that she does not even register surprise at being addressed by the angelic messengers. Like the story in Songs of Songs, she is in search of her Beloved. Eventually, Jesus does come to her. “Whom (not what) do you seek?” he says. Mary continues to weep with blinding sadness.
Finally, Jesus says, “Mary.” Then Mary turns. This is not a physical turning but the conversion of a pre-Easter disciple turning away from what lies behind toward something ( Someone) very new and beautiful. This One will teach her all her heart desires, and even more. Not being able to contain herself, Mary responds, “Rabbouni.”
Then Jesus tells her, “Mary, do not continue to touch me.” The actual literal translation is “Not me, continue to touch.” The emphasis is on the word “me.” “Go, instead, to my brothers and sisters,” Jesus says. “Touch them. Mary, our former way of relating is over.” Actually, at this point, I feel sorry for Mary. (Sandra Schneiders points out that the word “touch”, in this case, is not our usual understanding of the word but refers to interpersonal relating.)
From now on, Mary will meet the Risen Jesus, her Beloved, in the community of his brothers and sisters. There is somewhat of a mystery as to just how this happens. Furthermore, this is the first time that the followers of Jesus are referred to as the brothers and sisters of Jesus and of one another.
The Resurrection has occurred within Mary. She, who at the beginning of the story was in the depths of spiritual darkness, now joyfully runs to share all that has happened. “I have seen the Lord,” she says. “We are not left orphaned. He went away, as he said, but now he has returned. He is still with us, but in a different way”
Oh Mary, wonderful woman of God, on your way to the others, visit this house. With your own heart and voice, let us hear that we, too, will see the Lord in community and in one another.
Sister Mary Jo Loebig, O.C.D.
Easter's Promise
We scurried about looking for just the right photo. In the center page of spring's Journey and the Joy, the message read: “Easter, and all we can become, break forth within my soul.” (A bit of Rilke, adapted.) Surely, an Easter lily in bloom would image the saying. We found, though, that it was too early for lilies. The pre-Easter time had not yet finished its work. Still, we knew that Easter would come, and with it, a sense that all we have been promised will come to be.
Jesuit Karl Rahner, with his exceedingly long German sentences, addresses the three great longings of the human heart:
- We long to love another with all that we are, holding nothing back, and to be loved in return without reservation.
- We long for the assurance that, in the end, and even during our everyday life, good will triumph over evil.
- Lastly, when our time comes to leave this world, we long to fall into the embrace of a loving Presence, and to be held by God, forever.
We can only ask ourselves: “Are there other deeply human longings?” With the sun, Easter rises within the soul. The Risen One walks among us. All these promises, and even more, will surely come to be. Alleluia!
Sister Mary Jo Loebig, O.C.D.
February 2004
Today's Way of the Cross
Some years ago, when I was involved in giving directed retreats, there was an exercise I used to give to the retreatants. When it came to the point in the retreat of meditating on the Passion, I asked the retreatant to make the traditional Stations of the Cross, an exercise the retreatant usually welcomed.
When the person on retreat came to share this experience, I was always struck by the fact that what the retreatant described as the chief suffering of Jesus was actually a description of the retreatant's own suffering.
Although, at first sight, it may seem to be self-centered, Lent is probably a good time to get in touch with our own unarticulated suffering, and to place it before the Heart of God each morning. When Easter comes, we may come to realize that something within us has changed.
I have also found that many times people are attracted to, and become involved in, a home spun type of ministry with others, who have similar sufferings. Thus, there is the going out from self toward others.
Most of us are in agreement that Lent is a good time to get in touch with our own Center, and to make concrete decisions. In all ways, God wants our happiness and not our anguish, except maybe to give it away. Relief from our own struggles, then, can make us different people. Almost always, this change affects other people around us for the good. Then, too, laying our troubles before the Lord must also be something that soothes the Heart of God. We're in it together.
Sister Mary Jo Loebig, O.C.D.
January 2004
That First Vision
Tucked in with his many reflections on what life is all about, Thomas Merton tells the story of his first visit to Gethsemane and his view from the Guest House window. Meron looked down and saw the monks silently moving about doing what monks do. He even saw a young man who was contemplating the life, and who was not yet in monk's robes. Looking back on that day, Merton felt that this vision from the Guest House window was the occasion of receiving an understanding of the deep meaning of the monastic call.
Later, having become a committed member himself, Merton found that he was often annoyed with the different goings on in the monastery, including discussions about ducks in the pond and morning glories growing in the corn.
In spite of this, Merton realized that this first vision from the Guest House window was indeed a true one. So it is with all beginnings and new callings. The vision we first receive is a gift of God and meant to be carried forward as our mainstay.
My own Novice Directress used to tell us that a vocation to any way of life is a constant calling. She exhorted her novices to get down on their knees each new morning and to say yes to what they envisioned and experienced with that first call.
Sister Mary Jo Loebig, O.C.D.
Christmas 2003
Seeing For the First Time
If longer titles were allowed in the writer's world, this reflection would be entitled: “Finding the Star-- Not Knowing It-- And Wishing It Were Otherwise.”
In the familiar story of the Magi, we actually are reading our own story. On December 25, we celebrate God's coming to us. On the feast of the Epiphany, we reflect what it means to make a journey in search of God. Those who study human behavior tell us that, even though it may appear otherwise, generally speaking, we never really make a wrong turn. This is due to the bubbling spring inside of us that directs our course. In his Spiritual Canticle , St. John of the Cross sets out in search of his heart's love with no other light to guide him except the light that burns within. Along this line, the ancients felt that we all have a star within us that is a reflection of the star in the outer sky.
At any rate, the Magi left their familiar surroundings and faithfully set out to find that which seemed to be within. The way was long and hard. Often their feet were tired. In the face of uncertainty, there were days when their hearts were heavy, and their spirits wavered. Being far from their homeland, they were frightened, not knowing if they had made the right decision. Where would this star take them? We could also ask: “Where did they find the courage?” However, it did help that their feet were pointed in the right direction. Although the way was rocky, it led them straight to God, which proves that God desires to be found.
Jesuit Karl Rahner points out that “whoever has once poured out their whole life for the star, to the very last drop, has already encountered the adventure of their life in that single instant.”* It is true. Every once in awhile, we do experience the whole of our life in one single event, or one moment. Often these little glimpses are enough to help us keep going.
It behooves us, then, to reflect on where that star has taken us thus far, and to review the little world wherein we find ourselves. Maybe, we have what we have been searching for and do not know it. Perhaps, we should thank this kind star. It has been very faithful. It may have been the force that carried us forward, even when we did not want to go in a certain direction. It will never leave us. It will always be there for that next step. In turn, the star only asks that we take nothing with us that will weigh us down. And it tells us to travel on with peaceful abandon, trust and optimism. With these, our hearts will be lightened, in the face of whatever may come.
*Karl Rahner, S.J. The Great Church Year . ( New York: The Crossroad Publishing Company, 1993) p.105.
Sister Mary Jo Loebig, O.C.D.
December 2003
Three Little Words
Edward Schillebeeck, O.P., tells us that the whole message of the Gospel can be summed up in three words: “Be not afraid.” Perhaps, this is also true of the Christmas story. At the very beginning of the Gospel of Luke, the angel tells Mary not to be afraid. When the angels appear to the shepherds, they are told not to be afraid, and so on.
Rachel Naomi Remen recounts the story of her “hero” uncle, a shy and unassuming man, who was also a physician. The story goes like this. It was World War II. Acting on false information, the troop of soldiers, preceding him, forged ahead into what they thought was territory cleared of enemy fire. In a matter of seconds, open enemy fire ensued. The field was covered with wounded and dying soldiers. Inching his way, close to the ground with supplies strapped to his back, Rachel's uncle placed tourniquets, stopped bleeding, took messages on the backs of worn photographs and, in some cases, gave a form of “last rites.”
Later, her uncle returned to his hometown, where he was given a hero's welcome. Rachel, who was in second grade at the time, sat on her uncle's lap and told him how brave she thought he was for doing such a thing. Rachel had surmised that her uncle was not afraid of anything. Gently, her uncle responded by telling her how frightened he was. He went on to explain that being brave does not mean being unafraid. It often means being afraid but going ahead anyway.*
It would appear that, with each new Christmas, we receive more of Christmas. Giving us a different view of the experience of Advent and Christmas, Paul Tillich suggests that what we wait for is already acting within us ahead of time, giving us its strength and power. Maybe, this is why some people prefer Advent to Christmas. In the face of this, one could ask, “What is it that I am waiting for?” In a letter to a friend, Jesuit Karl Rahner tells his friend to have the courage to be alone. Perhaps it is not courage we need so much but a simple desire and decision. In being alone, we find that we are not alone. We may also discover what it is that we are waiting for.
As we rush about writing Christmas cards and thinking of a gift for this or that person, there is a strong vivifying sense that indeed some Spirit has taken a hold of us. We also become aware of how much others mean to us. For a brief time, this “God With Us”(another set of three words) breaks through the humdrum of our daily routine and reveals to us not only a different dimension of our human existence, but our own innate goodness and that of others.
*Rachel Naomi Remen, Kitchen Table Wisdom . (New York: Riverhead Books, 1996) p.49.
Sister Mary Jo Loebig, O.C.D.
